


Puzzle Pieces

by tazziebubbles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Avengers Movie Night, Avengers Tower, Basically I went hmm what if they tried to understand eachother and went from there, Clothes Sharing, Domestic Avengers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Not canon-compliant for anything beyond CA:TWS because I haven't watched that far yet oops, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, SO MUCH FLUFF, Several Of Them In Fact, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve is smart and notices things is the hill I will die on, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Yes it's 2020 and I'm writing 2012-style Domestic Avengers fics, and cuddling, established Tony Stark/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, implied PTSD, who's gonna stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tazziebubbles/pseuds/tazziebubbles
Summary: When Steve thought of Tony he thought of constant needling and cutting intelligence and that constant air that always seemed to surround him like it was something tangible, that he was untouchable.And yet...there he’d been. Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, seeking reassurance that he’d done okay.~In which Steve begins to notice a few things about Tony, and they become better friends because of it.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 11
Kudos: 212





	Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> A few trigger warnings for: anxiety attacks, alcoholism and abusive parenting. If there's anything you think I've missed please feel free to let me know!

Steve preferred morning runs, generally. He enjoyed watching sheets of frost thaw as the sun began to climb the sky, the way pinks melted gradually into vibrant blues, the way cafés and sidewalks practically overflowed with bustling life. Sometimes however, things got in the way, like Sam inviting him over to binge-watchclassic movies into the early hours of dawn, the things he apparently _couldn’t wait to see any longer, seriously Steve we gotta get you in the loop because some of my jokes depend on it and I’m tired of you giving me that confused face instead of laughing._

That was beside the point, anyhow. The _point_ was that Steve wouldn’t normally be entering the tower at around dinner time, after a day of press conferences and a quick late afternoon run. He really didn’t _mean_ to stumble upon Tony and Rhodes and their hushed chatter on his way to the main living space on Tony’s floor, where they normally congregated for team dinners. But he _did_. Which was why he was currently crowded up against a wall hoping to god they’d just turn the other way, pressing his hands to his ears in attempt not to eavesdrop. It didn’t work, obviously. Damn supersoldier hearing. 

“You think I did okay today? With those reporters?” 

_That_ had Steve freezing for a good second and slowly lowering his hands back down, careful not to make a sound. It was definitely Tony’s voice, but it had a soft quality to it, equal parts reluctant and earnest, with a certain desperation underpinning it. Desperation for _what_ exactly, Steve wasn’t sure. 

“Yeah, Tones, of course. You did good, getting them off Bruce’s back like that. Drawing the attention away when the others didn’t want it. You did good.” 

It was only a glance, a few milliseconds at most, but Steve managed to catch Rhodes’ hands in Tony’s hair, Tony’s head rested on his chest, their gentle sway back and forth. Guilt immediately rose up inside of him at the sheer _intimacy_ of it, and he tried to keep his steps as silent as humanly possible against the tiles, heart thudding furiously away at his ribcage. He managed to retreat far enough that when they rounded the corner, he was at the opposite end of the hallway, walking their way with an almost excessive casualness. 

“Hey Capsicle,” Tony greeted as they passed, normal demeanour falling right back into place like it was nothing, “dinner should be ready in ten, but I can’t vouch for its edibleness. I’d be checking for eggshells.”

Steve couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “Thor’s night?” 

“Thor’s night,” Tony confirmed with a grin. 

Once they’d disappeared around another corner, Rhodes’ arm wound tight around Tony’s waist, _that’s_ when Steve finally began to acknowledge some of the thoughts racing through his mind, tripping over themselves and becoming all muddled in their haste. 

Tony was...well, he was a friend. A teammate, a strong ally, outspoken, wry, damn near incapable of taking things serious sometimes, but Steve had come to expect that now, had even grown to _appreciate_ it in some twisted sense. When Steve thought of Tony he thought of constant needling and cutting intelligence and that constant air that always seemed to surround him like it was something tangible, that he was _untouchable_.

And yet...there he’d been. Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, seeking reassurance that he’d done okay. There was something very devastatingly human about the whole thing, and the reality of it was crashing down over Steve like a tidal wave. Underneath the snark, the quips, the iron suit, was someone who wanted to know if he was doing okay. Someone who worried he _wasn’t_ doing okay. 

The guilt from earlier returned in full force, almost tenfold in its intensity, climbing his throat and welling up inside his chest until he could barely _breathe_ around it, which he knew wasn’t logical because of _course_ he could breathe, what with his enhanced lung capacity and all.

 _It‘s just a snippet of one conversation,_ he told himself as he approached the main living space, shaking his head, _you’ve always known he was human. Humans need reassurance. This shouldn’t be so cataclysmic a realisation to have._

_So why was it?_

* * *

He wasn’t obsessed. 

It was perfectly normal to care about the well-being of a teammate.

Tony was an exceptional fighter and an exceptional thinker and without a doubt an invaluable member of the team, so _what_ if Steve started to watch him more closely, to look beyond the subterfuge and the snark that Tony was so unbelievably well-versed in, it had almost fooled him when they first met. 

With all of his faith in his ability to observe people, to interpret people, Steve had to admit that there was quite a lot that slipped his notice. Perhaps it was to be expected — he understood people in terms of where they could be placed on a battlefield or what their next move might be during combat, but understanding people _themselves_ often remained just out of Steve’s grasp; frustratingly so. 

During fights, Steve knew how to act on things, on subtle cues like facial expressions, haptics, nervous ticks, hesitation, but _outside_ of that? It was damn near embarrassing just how out of his depth he often felt. Add living in a whole new century to the mix, and he was often left floundering when he really shouldn’t be. 

Nevertheless, he noticed. He noticed the looks that Colonel Rhodes received during meetings when he defended Tony, _knowing_ , like because they were in a relationship his words didn’t hold as much weight as they usually did. They weren’t malicious per se, but they _were_ dismissive, and Steve really didn’t know which was worse. He’d been on the giving end of a few of those looks just weeks ago, which had something heavy and awful settling in his chest. 

Because here was the thing: Rhodes would absolutely defend Tony to his last breath if he felt he needed defending, but he was by no means a yes-man. He had no qualms whatsoever about disagreeing with his boyfriend, or calling him out, or taking him down a notch. So when he threw a glance over at Rhodes during one particular debriefing to find him downright fuming where he sat, hardened steel in his gaze, a protective hand rested on the back of Tony’s chair, he knew they were all about to face his wrath. A wrath that, as much as everyone would’ve struggled to admit it, would probably be for good reason. 

Except...that never came, because Tony was out of his chair so quickly that not even Steve could’ve anticipated it, and to say he snapped would’ve been an almost criminal understatement. There was fire behind his eyes, tension in every line of his body, taut, ready to detonate. 

And detonate he did. It spoke to just how surprising the behaviour was that even Fury fell silent. 

“Alright, you know what? Fine. You guys wanna know why it seemed like those Hydra agents could see us coming from a mile away? 

It’s because they _did_. We have intel that says their security systems have been specialised to us, to detecting us, so _no_ , it wasn’t a matter of working harder, it was a matter of being _unprepared_ , being unable to disguise ourselves to them. 

It sure as _hell_ was not a matter of me being slow to disable their security systems, there’s only so much the damn suit can do while I’m piloting it guys, and _yeah_ , maybe I didn’t get those electron scramblers ready in time before the mission, but my continued upgrades to the suit _aren’t_ pointless and they _aren’t_ me having an ego-trip, and they _aren’t_ wasted time, they’re me _adapting_ , they’re me increasing the chance of survival for every _fucking_ person in this room right now.

And can we stop saying I don’t take our missions seriously? Because I damn well _do_ and I think all of you know it. You _know_ that I stick my neck for every single one of you, give you all the best fighting chance possible. A few jokes are _not_ gonna kill anyone. Seriously, just, fuckin’...lay off me a minute will you?” 

No quips to soften the blow. Not one trace of a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Steve wondered for a moment if going into cardiac arrest _was_ possible for his supersoldier form after all. 

Tony cleared his throat, stepped away from his chair. “Well! This has been a pleasure, _really_ , but it’s getting late, and I have work to do, dinner to eat, bots to hang out with, yadda yadda. You know the drill. I’ll be taking my leave now.” 

And he did. And no one, not even Fury, although he looked as though he was heavily debating it, stopped him. 

Rhodes was standing up from his chair in no time, looking unfathomably smug. 

“Fury. Avengers.” 

He gave a nod of acknowledgment, before stepping outside and striding away.

Everyone continued to stare at the glass door as though they still couldn’t quite believe it, and Steve was almost worried they were going to burn right through it. 

“Alright guys come on, focus up,” he said, jerking his head towards Fury. 

Fury nodded resolutely, and the debriefing continued. 

Thus came Steve’s second realisation that should’ve been clear as day in hindsight; Tony Stark was absolutely capable of taking things seriously, and he did it every day. He was rambunctious sometimes, and he spoke in wry sarcasm like it was its own language, but never let it be said that he thought the work they did or the lives they protected was any sort of laughing matter. 

* * *

On some days, the missions they embarked on were relatively tame. Usually, these were raids of Hydra or AIM bases, planned out meticulously in advance to ensure things panned out as smoothly as possible. On other days, blaring sirens woke them up in the middle of the night because sentient interdimensional jellyfish had decided that they just couldn’t wait until morning to try and invade Earth. Awfully inconvenient, but Steve was nothing if not prepared at all times, and they’d dealt with the situation by the time deep reds had begun to streak across the horizon, signalling sunrise. 

October was upon them, and the morning air was frigid, seeping in through their clothes and right down to their very bones. They all huddled together on the ride home, waiting for the heating systems on the quinjet to kick in. Clint had Natasha’s arms wrapped around him, her chin hooked over his shoulder, Bruce seemed to have found warmth by curling up into Thor’s side, who was petting his head and animatedly discussing the wonders of Asgardian science in that booming voice of his. Sam was half-sitting on Steve’s lap, not that he minded one bit, because they’d always been rather tactile with one another and the body warmth emanating from him was a pleasant contrast to the icy air. Tony was up in the cockpit, keeping an eye on the steering even though it wasn’t particularly necessary with Jarvis having piloted them home safely on numerous occasions. Steve supposed it didn’t hurt, even if he did frown slightly at the shivers wracking through Tony’s body now that he was out of the suit. 

They congregated briefly on Tony’s floor, scanning one another for injuries and running over the events of the night. It was only when Steve cast an eye around at the couches that he realised Tony was in the corner of the room with Pepper, his head tucked against her chest as gentle fingers ran down his neck and through his hair. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he’d feel guilty about it later but Steve just couldn’t help it, he redirected his focus and attempted to listen in. 

“—I’m so proud of you, you did _so_ good getting them through those portals and I’m glad you’re safe even if we _really_ need to talk about how loud those emergency alarms to assemble are, I think you might’ve woken up half of New York,” she was murmuring into his hair, and Steve watched as the tension visibly drained from Tony’s shoulders, shaking slightly now with laughter at the latter comment. 

They’d all grown used to Pepper awaiting them at the end of emergency missions, always eager to make sure Tony was okay, but they weren’t normally privy to softer moments like these.

When Tony wandered over to sit beside him, he looked far more content than he had on the ride back, far less as though his skin was crawling with jittery energy. 

Steve hesitated for a moment, before leaning over a fraction, keeping his voice low.

“Quick thinking out there with those energy fields, by the way. You did good.” 

Tony’s eyes widened for a split second, but he was quick to reign in his surprise, settling instead for a smirk. 

“Couldn’t have done it without Captain America and his high-tech jetpack.” 

“That _you_ designed.” 

Tony snorted. “You flatter me.” 

Steve couldn’t help but frown at that, because he wasn’t even trying to be flattering, he was just stating a fact. 

“Seriously. We all appreciate the time you put into making stuff like that.” 

Tony cleared his throat, and Steve could see some of the tension returning to his shoulders, lifting almost imperceptibly towards his ears. That was the complete _opposite_ of what he was going for. 

“Alright, what’s the angle here, Cap? You need your shield painted new colours? An upgrade to the jetpack? Some sketching pencils? All you have to do is ask.” 

Steve’s frown deepened. “There’s no angle. I just...wanted to let you know.” 

Tony's gaze swept over his face, sharp, scrutinising, turning him inside out. He’d always had a way of looking at people like he was deciphering every single secret they were guarding, like he could see right through them with startling precision and ease. Steve supposed a lifetime of people befriending you just because they wanted something from you did that to a person. 

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, clearly finding what he was searching for in Steve’s expression. 

Steve was more than delighted when Tony relaxed back into the couch cushions, tension visibly eased from his shoulders again. 

* * *

Anyone could’ve seen it; the sag in Tony’s posture, his mounting reluctance to take breaks from work, the restless energy that was attempting to claw its way out of him by any means necessary, filling the air around him like it was something material, something blanketing them all. It was _suffocating_. 

When Steve visited him down at the lab, he watched as Tony flitted between different workbenches and projects, his mind scattered, his focus worn thin across all of his obligations. Nothing like the single-minded focus he normally possessed when he was in his element. 

And _yeah_ , Steve worried. Rhodes had been away for almost a month now and Tony was categorically _refusing_ to admit that it was having any sort of impact on him. He’d come close on multiple occasions to asking if there was anything he could do to help, but he always hesitated, always doubted he wouldn’t just be brushed off.It was times like those that Steve _really_ wished his combat skills could somehow translate over to people skills because this was bordering on ridiculous. Sure, he’d like to think they were friends now, but whether they were on the level of spontaneous heart-to-hearts was another matter entirely.

Then Tony started skipping team movie nights, and Steve was having absolutely none of that, so he sucked it up one Saturday night and ventured down to the lab. The ground-to-floor windows displayed a spanning black sky, star-speckled and cloudless. It allowed moonlight to pour right in, leaving half of Tony’s face lit up and the other half shrouded in darkness. There was faint blue light emanating from the holographic quinjet that he was spinning, and spinning, and spinning, and _seriously_ , how long had he been spinning that thing for? 

“We’re about to start movie night.” 

Tony didn’t even look up. “Think I’ll sit this one out.”

Steve took a tentative step forward. “You’ve sat out on the past two.” 

“Maybe I just don’t like the disaster-slash-apocalyptic action movies you keep choosing.” 

“Oh, come on. I only choose them because they get us all talking, trying to figure out how _we_ would handle the situations if we were placed in them. It’s good for team-building. _And_ strategising.” 

Tony was still refusing to meet his gaze, staring at the hologram as though entranced. Steve wondered briefly if sitting in the dark like this was particularly good for his eyesight. 

“Sorry, Cap. Duty calls.” 

“You’re spinning a hologram.” 

“I’m _thinking_.” 

“About?” 

“Smart people stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, _now_ you’re asking for it.” 

That had Tony’s gaze snapping up to him. “Take another step closer and I’ll activate my emergency protocols of death.” 

“I think I’ll take my chances.” 

“I’ll activate Jarvis’ instant kill mode.” 

Steve snorted, continuing his leisurely pace forward. “You do that.” 

“You should be cowering in fear right now! Alright, you know what, since we’re friends Rogers, if you turn around right now and leave this lab I _won’t_ activate the glitter guns installed into the walls.” 

“It’s your lab to clean up,” said Steve with a mild shrug, before placing a hand on the bench, vaulting himself over it and scooping a startled Tony up into his arms. 

“I have a heart condition!” he squawked, clutching his chest. 

Steve just grinned. “Sorry. Necessary evil.” 

Tony didn’t struggle much after his initial jolt of shock, just wrapped his arms around Steve and settled his face into the crook of his neck. 

“I could get used to having a supersoldier carry me places,” he said conversationally, and Steve just laughed. 

“If it gets you outta that lab then I’m game.” 

Once they’d reached the couches, Steve gently lowered Tony down, ignoring the looks of amusement that were thrown in their direction. He settled himself between Tony and Sam, shifting a little to get comfortable.

Steve always enjoyed movie nights. The glittering New York lights that filled the tangled web of streets below was always a nice backdrop to have, but it was _really_ brought out while sitting in the darkened living space, dozens of floors up, with nothing but the pale glow of the TV. 

Tony usually situated himself somewhere away from everyone else; it was subtle at times, Steve would give him that, but it always resulted in him getting left out of the cuddle fest that usually resulted from movie nights. Already, he could see Clint’s head rested on Natasha’s lap, and Bruce seemed to be debating between whether to use Natasha’s shoulder or Thor’s shoulder as a pillow. Eventually, he settled down on the ground, leaning back against Natasha’s legs and rested his head on Thor. 

When the movie began to play, Steve chanced a glance over at Tony, who was leaning all of his weight into the armrest. 

_Maybe he only liked physical contact from Rhodes or Pepper?_

He made a mental note to either ask about it directly or experiment. 

They were watching _Skyscraper_ this time around, and Tony lasted all of about five minutes before he was raging over the security of the building, and how much better it would’ve been if _he’d_ been the one to design it. In the glowing light it wasn’t hard to see the relief spread across everyone’s faces; it had been far too long since Tony had gone on a passionate rant about a movie, and they’d all secretly been missing it. Bruce eventually joined in too, and soon enough they were all squabbling over what the best course of action would be to deal with the various disasters that cropped up. 

Steve’s face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much. 

Tony began to relax back into the couch, no longer consciously putting effort towards leaning away from him. Sam had his head on Steve’s chest now, and Steve’s hands had come up on their own accord, mindlessly running over his scalp. The steady pressure against his chest was soothing, and he was completely oblivious to the fact that a pair of eyes had settled upon them until he felt movement beside him, drawing Steve’s attention away from the TV. 

Tony was watching them with a faraway look in his eye, absently worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. He looked away as soon as his gaze met Steve’s, making a loud remark about the movie almost as if to compensate. 

The following few minutes found Steve sending furtive glances his friend’s way, trying to decipher what that look had been all about. Eventually, he decided on shifting closer, bringing Sam with him. They weren’t close enough to touch, but it wasn’t about touch, it was about _invitation_ , and from the dumbfounded expression that flitted across Tony’s face, he’d received that invitation loud and clear. 

A beat or two passed. Steve could feel his stomach working itself into knots as he tried to determine whether he’d made the right call. Then, he felt Tony shift, and a gentle weight settling on his shoulder. Instantly, the racing thoughts clouding his brain cleared right up, and an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment beamed right through, spreading warmth down to his fingertips. 

The weight gradually increased in pressure as Tony grew confident that Steve wasn’t going to object to it, and eventually, he was leaning into him fully. 

That was when Steve’s next realisation hit; providing a friend with comfort could be as simple as reaching out to them, involving them somehow, at least until they were ready to talk. Slowly, inch by inch, his world of black and whites, of all or nothings, was melting into various shades of grey, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

A few days later, Steve stumbled upon Rhodes and Tony curled up on the couch together, exchanging easy kisses while a movie played in the background, and he dug up his long-forgotten Starkphone to inform everyone that dinner would be on his floor that night. 

* * *

Steve’s careful observation led to more than a few findings he made sure to take note of. 

For instance, he’d initially assumed that Tony’s anxiety attacks occurred in the face of any sort of stressful situation, but he was starting to notice a few patterns emerging. Sometimes, they appeared seemingly out of nowhere, usually after a period of prolonged stress, of various accumulated worries finally catching up to him. Rapid talking, particularly from multiple people, while he was trying to think often caused him to either lash out or work himself into a panic. 

Oftentimes however, environmental factors only played a role in initially triggering an attack, when Steve could tell the root cause had been internal. He didn’t tend to ask, but he knew with what Tony had been through there could’ve any number of things that caused him to spiral into unadulterated panic if he thought about them for too long. 

What Steve paid the closest attention to was the myriad of ways in which Pepper and Rhodes soothed him when he struggled to calm down on his own. He watched the gentle touches, the whispered encouragement, the sharp looks they’d direct at anyone who came too close. He watched the food that was left at his workbenches sometimes, and Pepper’s quiet demands that Jarvis raise the temperature in Tony’s lab a little, because feeling warm often encouraged him to take naps. Steve wasn’t an expert by any means but he supposed sleep deprivation couldn’t be good for anxiety attacks. 

“I think we should start making an effort to talk to Tony one by one instead of talking all over one another,” he announced one evening.

Through the window, oranges were melting down into deep blues, and dazzling lights were coming to life within the windows of every building. As much as Steve enjoyed sunrises, he was always most content when the team started to trickle into one room from their various crevices, easy chatter starting up between them. 

Clint shouted from the kitchen, voice accompanied by steady chopping noises. 

“You’ve noticed that too?” 

“Yeah. More so recently, I think.” 

Thor looked considering for a moment, redirecting his focus from where he’d been tossing Mjolnir up and down. 

“Talking all at once? This bothers him?” 

When Steve nodded, Thor looked at him a moment longer before giving a resolute nod of his own. 

“Then I shall make an effort not to do so.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but promptly closed it again when the door swung open and Tony waltzed inside. 

“What are we making an effort not to do? Please, _please_ say it’s leaving clothes on my floor so I’ll wash them. Unless they’re hoodies, in which case I will gladly take them off your hands.” 

Natasha let out a small, indignant noise from where she was sprawled across the couch. “ _Two_ of my hoodies are missing and I didn’t even _leave_ them on your floor.” 

Tony just grinned, flinging himself down beside Steve. 

“Uh, finders keepers, Romanoff — we’ve established this already. You all should quit leaving your hoodies and jackets outside your rooms or else they’re fair game for yours truly.” 

“So _that’s_ where my jacket went,” said Steve. 

“They’re comforting!” Tony defended, “reminds me that you’re all safe. And not like dead ’cause of me, or something.” 

The silence that fell over the room was so thick Steve could feel it ringing in his ears. Tony looked to each of them, a slight flush appearing high up on his cheeks. 

He pointedly cleared his throat. “Wow. Uh. That got real for a hot sec there. You know what, now that I think about it, I don’t think I finished the schematics for that new quinjet engine. Yeah! Totally forgot to add a title. Stupid right? I should go fix that. Schematics without a title, what kind of engineer am I—“ 

“I have plenty of jackets,” Steve interrupted, once he’d managed to get his vocal cords working again. “Take ‘em whenever you want.” 

“Me too,” Natasha added, looking as close to shock as her face seemed to allow, “lots of hoodies. Way too many.” 

Everyone piped up with similar sentiments, and in the glow of the kitchen light Steve could see the way Tony’s eyes shone with unshed tears. In the very back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what other sorts of thoughts about the team bothered him, what he dwelled on endlessly when no one else was around, whether _what-ifs_ like that had ever kept him awake before. 

Later, when their conversations dwindled and people began to make their way to their respective floors, Steve placed a tentative hand on Tony’s shoulder. 

“We all know what we’re signing up for when we go on missions. We all accept the risks involved. If one of us were to die somehow...it wouldn’t be your fault, you hear me?“ 

Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other, visibly struggling to meet his gaze. He seemed to be cycling through various emotions, expression never quite settling on any of them. For the briefest of moments it seemed as though he was turning his repertoire upside down, searching for a sarcastic quip of some kind to lighten the moment. 

A few more beats passed. Steve felt as though his heart had leapt into his throat somehow, felt slightly choked up with all of the additional things he wanted to say, if only he knew _how_. 

“I hear you, Cap,” he said eventually, voice thick, and Steve couldn’t detect a trace of sarcasm in that tone. 

Satisfied, he took a step back and gave a quick salute. “Good. See you tomorrow, okay?”

Tony offered him a wobbly smile as he left, and Steve wondered vaguely if that was because he didn’t trust his voice. Either way, he felt he’d gotten the intended point across. 

* * *

Steve started to experiment. He didn’t know _people_ , but he _did_ know how to make various food items, and he _did_ know where to leave them in order to encourage Tony to eat them. Coffee and fruit and sandwiches started appearing magically by his elbow, and he was always more than delighted when a rumpled looking Tony would wander into the kitchen and deposit empty dishes in his sink, sending Steve a considering glance as he left again. 

He had this perpetual look of puzzlement swimming in his eyes whenever Steve made an effort to thank him for the various things he did, like he’d accumulated all the pieces of a puzzle but was struggling to make sense of the image they created. Steve tried not to feel too horrified over how damn _suspicious_ Tony was of anyone who showed him even a scrap of kindness, but it was a close thing. 

After watching Tony literally _pinch_ himself with the suit still on when Natasha told him he wasn’t expendable, Steve had been hit with the rather embarrassing urge to smother him with blankets and keep him well away from the rest of the world, because clearly people couldn’t be trusted around him. On top of embarrassing, it was downright _inconvenient_. He was trying to order them around, dammit, they were on a mission and they had to stay focused lest they lose their upper hand. 

Finally, _finally_ , once they’d handled clean-up, debriefings, and an alien slime scare, they were on their way to the tower, late afternoon rays of sunshine streaming in through the car windows. 

“You’re sleeping when we get back,” he said, in a tone that he hoped held no room for argument. 

Except, this was _Tony_ , and there really wasn’t such thing with that man. 

“And if I don’t want to?” 

From around the car came various noises of disapproval. 

“Steve’s right. You were sleep-deprived _before_ we left, now you look like a reanimated corpse,” said Bruce, before wincing a little. “No offense.” 

Tony looked downright affronted at that, as though Bruce had just punched him square in the face. 

“I’m feeling really fucking mothered right now.”

“ _Good_ ,” Natasha piped up, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, and that seemed to shut Tony up, if only for a few moments. 

“I resent the implication that I have to be mothered,” he mumbled darkly, before leaning heavily into Steve’s side. Steve couldn’t help but take a moment to feel immensely pleased that he no longer hesitated before doing so. 

“If you’re good Tony, we might make a stop at Mcdonald’s on the way home,” Clint cooed, which had Steve suppressing an amused snort. 

“You’re on my shit-list, Barton,” said Tony, pointing an accusing finger at him. 

He looked as though he wanted to protest some more, but his next sentence came to a screeching halt when Steve began to run a (very strategic) hand through his hair. Within seconds, Tony had his eyes closed, a rumbling noise of contentment leaving his throat as he nuzzled closer.

He was fast asleep by the time they’d arrived at the tower, and the irony of that was not lost on Steve one bit. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was in disarray and there were various smudges of _something_ across the side of his face. With the sun beaming in, colouring the edges of his hair a bright gold, he looked like he’d come straight out of one of the pictures in Steve’s sketchbook. 

“You’re really not helping your case, pal,” he murmured as he lifted the man up from his seat, garnering a few quiet laughs from the others.

Steve didn’t exactly get to keep Tony away from the rest of the world, but he _did_ get to smother him in blankets, and that was good enough for him. When Rhodes sent him a text with the words _‘how’s the koala doing after the mission?’_ he just laughed and replied _‘fell asleep on the ride home. Think he’s clinging to Natasha right now.’_

One glance up confirmed that _yes_ , Tony was still in fact wrapped around Natasha in his sleep, swimming in blankets to the point of resembling a human burrito, with his face burrowed in the crook of her neck. 

For someone usually so stoic, the look she was giving him was awfully fond. 

Steve wouldn’t tell. 

* * *

It was as though a floodgate had opened after that; once Tony had realised his touch wouldn’t be met with rejection, he was practically all over whoever was closest and available. None of them minded one bit, particularly when it drew him both out of the lab and out of his head more often. It had practically become habit for Steve to raise an arm while he was lounging whenever Tony walked in, so he wouldn’t hesitate to sit down beside him and burrow close. 

It was _nice_ , and the change was becoming more and more noticeable with each passing day. Smiles seemed to come more naturally, the tension he held in his shoulders seemed to have eased a little, and Steve had always been a tactile person anyway. He could communicate a whole lot more things without floundering that way. 

The only problem was that sometimes touch wasn’t enough. 

Steve wasn’t particularly happy about being back at a S.H.I.E.L.D. base, skin crawling with unease at the mere _thought_ of how easy it had been for Hydra to infiltrate its ranks. The large, reflective glass panes that spanned the lobby, the gleaming white tiles, the glances they received from practically every passer-by, _everything_ about the place had his nerves on edge, ready to be set aflame given even the faintest spark. 

Thinking of Hydra meant that his thoughts would inevitably stray to Bucky, to the thought of sweet, _sweet_ Bucky being locked up somewhere, brainwashed beyond all recognition. Not even knowing his own damn name. _How could that happen? How could he have let that happen?_

Guilt came crashing down over him, settling like ice in his chest and in his throat and sending shivers through every part of his body. It wasn’t logical — ever since the serum hetended to run hot, particularly indoors, but suddenly the cold felt inescapable. 

Steve supposed that’s why he’d been looking around the meeting room in the first place, never quite being able to settle his gaze on one thing, scanning exit points and potential threats, pondering the ways in which he could use that table in the corner as a weapon. 

He’d noticed some of the signs on an almost subconscious level, but he was unusually distractable that day and he didn’t put them together until the loud scraping of a chair against the polished floor echoed through the room. A wince twisted across Tony’s face at the noise, but he hurried out of the room regardless, and their monthly debriefing came to an abrupt halt.

Steve glanced around at all the S.H.I.E.L.D operatives in the room, who all had various levels of disapproval written across their faces, and couldn’t help a scowl. 

“Keep talkin’, guys.” 

He made himself scarce with a few easy strides across the room. Though he’d only been half-listening, Steve knew the battle of New York had come up in discussion, and that couldn’t have been good in terms of triggers. They’d all been effected of course, but the impacts manifested in vastly different ways. 

He could hear panicked muttering before he’d even rounded the corner, disjointed sentences that combined what seemed to be maths equations and repeated bouts of _‘get it together, get it together, get it together.’_

Steve cast his mind back to all those articles he’d read about panic attacks, and sucked in a deep breath before approaching the form that was slumped against the wall, curled in on itself. 

Instantly, memories of dealing with asthma attacks flooded his brain, and his chest seemed to almost burn in sympathy. 

Tony’s gaze lifted to meet his own, and his eyes widened even further. “Rogers,” he breathed out, sounding as though the word had been punched out with great effort, “what—what are you—“ 

He shushed him, brought a careful arm up to pull Tony into a standing position. He rolled his shoulders back, silently asking him to do the same, and although confusion was still clouding Tony’s expression, he hesitantly followed suit. 

“I know it might feel like you can’t breathe, but you’re gonna be okay I promise. Just—focus on me, alright? Just me.” 

Even in his current state, Tony looked momentarily as though he wanted to protest somehow, which Steve wouldn’t even touch at that moment, because _why was he so against the idea of help?_

“That’s it,” he encouraged, when Tony tried hard to match his breaths to Steve’s, even though he was still hyperventilating. “You’re doing good, just keep your shoulders back, breathe.” 

He sounded like a how-to-help-your-friend-through-a-panic-attack article personified, but Tony didn’t seem to mind, just nodded and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _‘Captain America is_ not _helping me through an anxiety attack right now. This is_ not _happening.’_

It took a few more minutes of murmured encouragement until Tony’s breaths evened out again, no longer coming out in quick, short, bursts of air. He lowered his head down to look at the floor, as though he couldn’t quite bear to look at Steve just yet. 

“Thanks. For checking on me. And for not...being a dick about it.” 

Steve just smiled, relieved that he hadn’t messed up somehow. “Hey, we all have scars from this line of work. Yours come out like this sometimes. That’s okay.” 

Tony huffed a laugh at that, and swayed forward slightly for such a brief moment that Steve almost thought he’d imagined it. 

Just in case he hadn’t, he decided on opening his arms, and Tony didn’t hesitate to walk right into them. He raised his hands, smoothed them up Tony’s neck and settled them in his hair, the way he’d seen Pepper and Rhodes do so many times.

“The Captain America get-up S.H.I.E.L.D gave you looks a lot softer than it actually is,” came a muffled voice from around his chest, startling a laugh out of him. 

“Sorry. I’ll try to work on that. Might even sew in a pillow, just for you.” 

“Now _that_ is innovative thinking. You should come join me in the lab sometime.” 

Steve hummed. “Think I might have to decline. My place is on the field. Or with a punching bag.” 

“Very macho of you.” 

“I try,” he said, as Tony pulled away from his grasp. 

He watched as something indecipherable flickered across the man’s face. 

“You feeling okay? You look a bit...something.” 

“I don’t like being back here,” Steve admitted, “don’t really like associating with S.H.I.E.L.D. in general but being here...I don’t know. Puts me on edge, I guess.” 

Tony looked considering for a moment. He looked towards the meeting room, then back at Steve. 

“I know a really good burger place just around the corner from here.” 

The words sounded casual, like he was just throwing him out there, but Steve could see the mischievous smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. 

He cleared his throat. “Ditching a monthly debriefing would be highly unprofessional.” 

“Oh, yeah, totally.” 

“We’d probably get in trouble. Fury would be disappointed in us.” 

“Also true.” 

“Might even send Coulson over to the tower with a bunch of summary papers for us to read. Give us a lecture about responsibility.” 

Steve couldn’t keep schooling his features after that, a smile beginning to break out on his face that rivalled Tony’s own. 

“I’m in.” 

“Knew you had it in you, cap.” 

* * *

The very first thing that came to Steve’s attention when he blearily opened his eyes was that his throat felt like parchment. He reached a hand out to his bedside table, letting out a small, disappointed grunt when he didn’t find his usual water bottle there. 

It took a bit of self pep-talk, but he managed to haul his heavy limbs out of bed and wander out towards the kitchen, socked feet barely making a sound against the cool tiles. When he reached the kitchen he blinked a few times, adjusting to the pitch black. 

This wasn’t his floor. 

That’s when the events of last night finally came flooding in, the attack launched by Hydra on Manhattan, Steve promising that he’d spend the night on Tony’s floor if it would help him sleep even a little easier. 

He jolted violently when he picked up on shuffling, coming from the living space. Heart pounding, eyes darting to the nearest available weapons, Steve took a few steps forward and peered at the couches, trying to make out the shadowed form that was sitting on one of them, right where the darkness seemed to obscure everything from view. 

He let out a great heaving sigh of relief when he recognised Tony, only to frown when he realised how still everything was. There was no glow from the TV, no glow from a Starkpad or a Starkphone. Just eerie, all-encompassing silence. 

Steve approached the couch, heart sinking in his chest when he noticed the bottle of whiskey that sat on the coffee table. Probably from an expensive New York distiller, straight from the source, but Steve couldn’t make it out. He reached for the bottle, unable to hold back a pleased noise when he realised that the seal hadn’t been broken, and placed it gently on the kitchen counter. Tony was still staring resolutely forward, towards the twinkling city skyline. Steve swallowed once, twice, then sat down on the opposite end of the couch. 

Two different parts of his brain were warring with each other, trying to determine whether or not he should let Tony be the first to speak. Before he’d arrived at a decision, Tony was making it for him, and there was something unsettling about his tone, something Steve couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

He hoped to god that there wasn’t an empty whiskey bottle lying around somewhere. 

“I was, um...I was six. When I had my first drink.” 

Steve pressed his lips together, but didn’t interrupt. 

“My dad gave me a glass of bourbon. I wanted to impress him. He, uh. He didn’t remember obviously. Had a killer hangover the next morning, raged at me for a bit, till my mom stepped in.” 

He paused. Turned his head towards where the bottle of whiskey had been sitting just minutes ago. A heavy unease began to settle in Steve’s gut. He didn’t know what the full implications of the word ‘rage’ meant in this context. 

“He loved you, by the way. Talked about you all the time. Never thought I’d be able to measure up in my life.” 

Finally, Tony turned his gaze towards him. “I think I see what he means now. Why he might’ve been frustrated with me.” 

A small part of him almost felt compelled to jump to Howard’s defence, if out of obligation more than anything — he’d given him his shield, played a crucial role in winning the war, had always shown Steve nothing but kindness. 

But then he stopped. And he thought, _really_ thought, about how none of those things guaranteed he’d been a good father later on in life, about what Tony needed from him at that moment. It wasn’t a comfortable train of thought by any means, especially thinking back to all the good things he’d said about Howard Stark right to Tony’s face. Something heavy began to unfurl in his chest and rise up his throat, something that felt and tasted an awful lot like shame. 

“You’re nothing like me. Or him, and that’s...Tony, that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to be like me.” 

Steve shuffled closer on the couch, rested a hand on Tony’s knee. “When we go out on missions, I don’t feel safe because of that armour, because of all those fancy gadgets—“ a brief smile ghosted over Tony’s face, “—I feel safe because you’re there. Because _you’re_ the one that’s always ten moves ahead, _you’re_ the one that could probably turn just about anything into a weapon, because _you’re_ the one who built the damn armour in the first place. That’s all you. Not anyone else. And I know that...whatever you do, you’ll always be thinking about everyone else, what you can do to save the most amount of lives.” 

Tony’s eyes were looking a little glassy now in the pale moonlight. He cleared his throat, offered Steve a small smile. 

“Still think I can’t make the sacrifice play?” 

Steve just shook his head, even as he felt himself mirroring the smile. “I was being stubborn.” 

“We both were,” said Tony, “and for the record — the things that make you special go _way_ beyond what that serum did for you.” 

When Steve’s smile widened, Tony let out a huff and gave his shoulder a playful punch. 

“Look at us. Being gross. This is awful, let’s watch Masterchef reruns before I start getting urges to go full Shakespeare and dedicate a sonnet to our blossoming friendship.”

Steve just snorted and gave him a returning smack on the arm. “Your dad sounded like an ass, by the way.” 

That startled a laugh out of Tony, bright and amused. “It’s complicated.” 

“Not when you’re giving your six-year-old kid bourbon, it’s not.” 

“He had what you call, uh... _colourful_ parenting methods.” 

“See, colourful implies eccentric, but I don’t think that’s all it was.” 

Tony looked over at him, staring for a moment or two, before reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. 

“Ugh, let’s drop the dad talk. That’s supposed to be for my therapy sessions only.” 

And Steve knew, deep down, that he would never understand the full scope of the impression Howard left on Tony. The damage he’d left for him to repair, some of which would never quite go away, would always linger.

But he wasn’t a therapist, not even close, so he just nodded, wrapped an arm around Tony, and watched the frantic ramblings of Masterchef contestants unfold on the TV. 

That night, he poured every last drop of whiskey down the drain, happily ignoring Tony’s protests (“that shit cost me an arm and a leg, Cap! At least give it to one of the others!”) He also did a rather unsubtle sweep of Tony’s entire floor the following morning, satisfied when he came up with nothing and rewarding Tony with a cookie. Bruce raised an eyebrow at them, but Steve was nothing if not efficient in his methods, and cookies _worked_ , okay? 

(Plus he had seen Pepper employing similar methods, so really, it couldn’t have been that strange. Right?) 

* * *

As it turned out, flimsy dress shirts and blazers did absolutely _nothing_ against the cold. 

Steve knew this, of course, but it was hitting particularly hard at that moment as a bout of icy evening wind swept through, leaving his hair in disarray. 

_What good even was being a supersoldier if he wasn’t completely immune to cold,_ Steve wondered idly, looking out at the bustling street ahead. 

Any energy he’d previously had for socialising had depleted almost entirely, as was usual for big charity galas like the one Tony had dragged him along to that particular night. Steve wasn’t necessarily complaining, he knew having Captain America standing by you tended to invite some positive reactions due to the reputation he’d somehow managed to build up, but _man_. If one more person made a joke about ice, or electricity, he might just end up ditching the friendly laugh and offering up scowls instead. That’d sure be good for PR. Captain America and his resting murder face. 

The glass doors flew open at that moment, revealing an openly beaming Tony Stark. He sidled right up to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting a cheek against his chest. 

“And Rhodey, look! I can hug Steve now! And he doesn’t mind!” 

He paused, frowned at Rhodes for a moment, before directing his gaze up at Steve. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“No, but I _am_ worried you’re just using me for hugs,” he said, feigning a loud sigh. 

Rhodes piped up with a “he definitely is,” which had Tony looking positively scandalised. 

“Using people for hugs? _Moi?_ I’m insulted you’d even _think_ that.” 

It wasn’t hard to see that happiness was rolling off of Tony in waves whenever he had Rhodes by his side, and from the fond smile spreading across the other man’s face, Steve knew that it had to be mutual. He’d never believed in the idea of soulmates but if there was ever evidence of two people who were just _meant_ to find one another and remain together for a long, long while, it had to be those two. 

He’d heard some of the whispers at the Gala; that Rhodes only ever tolerated Tony and all of his enthusiasm, nothing more. That Tony would just tire him out sooner or later. 

Steve must’ve been seeing a different pair of people, because the mischievous light shining behind Tony’s eyes was almost _always_ mirrored in Rhodes. He didn’t just tolerate it, he _loved_ it, even if he had to pretend otherwise sometimes for the sake of professionalism. 

As the night drew to a close, the sun well and truly set, Rhodes approached him with a small smile. 

“Hey. I just wanted to thank you for looking out for him. Same goes for all of you. He just...”

Rhodes paused, sending a glance over to where Tony was showing Happy what seemed to be a new holographic feature for the Starkphone, projecting a box full of kittens. Steve followed his gaze, letting out an amused huff. 

“He seems happier at the tower now. Since New York, that’s been hard to come by.” 

Steve nodded. The unspoken words that lingered between them were loud enough. 

“It’s the least any of us can do. He’s part of the team — we all want him happy.” 

Tony seemed to sense that he was being watched, because soon enough, his gaze was flickering between them both. Steve watched as something almost imperceptible shifted in his expression, his eyebrows raising from where they’d been furrowed as realisation dawned steadily on his features. 

Tony had always had people in his corner, but now he had a whole team of superheroes to add to that list. 

Steve had a feeling that he’d finally made sense of that puzzle. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a quick 1k word thing about Tony getting a hug but then the characters started doing their own thing. I have no idea how this happened. (Also, I'm not sure whether Steve ever uses a jetpack in the MCU but he had one in Avengers Assemble and I just thought it'd be neat.)
> 
> Kudos/comments are appreciated if you liked it! <3


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